


Trade it In

by sablier_bloque



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sablier_bloque/pseuds/sablier_bloque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam realize that this life just isn't the right one for either of them. Alternate ending to 4.17</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trade it In

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to unreckless and albeitslowly for the beta.

“I heard you quit today.”

“Yeah,” Sam replies, switching the phone to his left hand as he unlocks his apartment door with his right “I did.”

“I, uh,” he hears Dean laugh into the phone. “I just put in my two weeks’.”

Sam pauses, one foot in the apartment and one in the hallway. “Yeah?” He sounds a little breathy when he asks, and his smile is so big his face hurts. “So you’re down with this? You wanna do this?”

“I think so?” Dean sounds nervous, questioning, and he sighs into the phone.

“Man, you can think about this. It’s a big decision, and—”

“No, Sam… no. I just… I’m at home; will you come over?”

Sam steps back into the hall and puts the key in the lock. “Yeah, of course. You hungry?”

///

Sam sets the take-out containers on Dean’s dining room table. He opens them up – a steak and baked potato for each of them, but no dessert because Sam didn’t have the cash. He looks up at Dean, his smile faltering when he sees Dean’s face.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I don’t eat red meat.”

Sam ignores the noise his stomach makes in protest. “Seriously?”

Dean nods.

“Why not?”

“Because I…” he trails off, loosening his tie a bit and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. “I don’t know.”

“Dude, this is a good steak. Expensive steak. We’re-changing-our-lives-steak.” Sam hands Dean the container. “Eat it.” Dean looks at the food again, then up at Sam and sits down.

They’re both still dressed for the office, though Sam is surprised Dean’s still in the starched, stiff shirt. It has to be freaking uncomfortable.

He leaves his own food untouched, watching Dean as he methodically cuts an almost perfect square of steak with the knife and looks at the meat cautiously before bringing the fork to his mouth. Sam can tell the moment it touches his tongue – Dean closes his eyes, and exhales; a small, almost inaudible moan escapes his throat when he finally bites into it. Sam realizes that he’s _staring_ , his own mouth slightly open, and he probably looks like a fucking idiot.

But the noise he made. Jesus.

Sam clears his throat and finally digs into his own plate. He takes a bite and yeah, it’s really fucking good, and Dean was completely within his rights to give Sam a sneak peek at the sounds he makes when he’s, er, _happy_. Because this? This is some happy-making steak.

“So what do you think, man?” Sam asks.

“I can’t believe I’ve been eating tofu and alfalfa sprouts the past six years.”

Sam laughs. “Here, you need some of this too.” He bends down to the other bag next to the table and pulls out a beer for each of them. Dean gets up and brings back a bottle opener about the time Sam has opened both bottles by hand. Sam hands him the beer and smirks before Dean sits down. He takes a sip and then stares at the bottle for a minute.

“Sam, this feels…”

“Right?” Sam says for him, because it feels right to _him_. Fuck the nine to five bullshit life. He has never felt as grounded, as in tune as he did when he and Dean were fighting that ghost.

“Yeah,” Dean whispers. “But weird. I just… I just gave up everything I’ve been working toward since I was 18. Hell, before that. I placed at FBLA nationals twice in high school. And I’ve always been the responsible one in the family, you know? I love Jo, I do, but she’s always been aimless and always got in trouble in school, but I’ve always had goals. I have a 15-year-plan. And I just completely flushed all of that down the toilet.” Dean rubs his palm over his eyes, and Sam lays a hand on his arm.

“Dean, listen. I know that this is pretty crazy. Especially for you, because my life goal was never to answer phones wearing a yellow polo shirt in a cubicle that I could barely fit in. But I think about us searching for that ghost, researching and fighting it, and nothing ever felt so _right_ before this week. It’s like the rest of my life is just some blur.

“And these dreams, I don’t know if they’re the future or just my subconscious fucking with me, but they are all you and me going after bad stuff _together_. So I’m willing to do this alone, I am, but it won’t be what it is supposed to be if you’re not there with me.”

Dean looks up at Sam, eyes so clear and bright that Sam’s gut melts when he looks into them. “Sam, I just told my boss to give his $38,000 bonus to someone else. There’s no fucking way I would have done that if I wasn’t 100% on board with doing this thing with you.”

“Yeah?” Sam asks, his hand is still on Dean’s arm, pressing firmly against the pressed cotton of his dress shirt, and he smiles.

Dean smiles back. “Yeah.”

///

Sam has never seen someone so methodical, so organized. The kitchen gets cleaned before they head to the living room (Sam will let his dishes pile for a week before even thinking about opening the dishwasher) and Dean is sitting on the sofa with a brand new legal pad open on his lap and a fountain pen pressed to the page. He still hasn’t tossed the suit in favor of sweats and a t-shirt; he hasn’t even taken off his tie or cuff links.

He knows this is who Dean has been for a long time, but he also knows that this isn’t the _real_ Dean. This is the product of the corporate ladder, budget reports, hours of meetings and luncheons with clients. What they’re doing, becoming ghost-chasers (they need to think of a cooler title than that), is going to change Dean. Hell, it’s going to change Sam too.

“First,” Dean says after Sam sits down next to him, “We need to think of how we’re going to finance this.”

 _This_. Living on the road, never eating a home-cooked meal again… fuck, pretty much being homeless. Dean makes it sounds so simple when he reduces it to one world. One syllable.

“I have quite a few investments, as well as stocks, and I can take out the small amount that’s available to me now from my retirement.” Dean says and jots down the list he just mentioned before taking a drink of his second beer. Sam watches his mouth form against the bottle’s opening, watches Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He tries not to let his mind wander, tries not to think of that dream he had three nights ago of Future Dean or Alternate Dean with those same, beautiful lips wrapped around Sam’s cock as he jerks himself off. Sam feels blood rushing south, and he inhales sharply.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asks, worry in his eyes, and the way he asks sounds so good that Sam doesn’t even mind the stupid nickname.

This is probably a really fucking bad idea, but his dreams haven’t steered him wrong yet: introducing him to Dean and foreshadowing his future with the ghost. There is a pretty good chance that his dreams aren’t wrong about _this_ either.

He takes the beer out of Dean’s hand, ignoring Dean’s question ( _”Sam, what are you doing?”_ ), and places the pen and paper on the coffee table. He crawls onto Dean’s lap, straddling him, and grabs Dean’s loosened tie to pull him up and press their lips together. The dreams weren’t wrong. It’s just the way Sam remembers when Dean’s mouth opens immediately, and Dean’s tongue is moving against his in seconds. _”Save it for the health club," my ass,_ Sam thinks, as Dean makes another one of those breathy moans into his mouth.

Dean’s lips are so soft; probably from organic, handmade, SPF-30 lip balm Dean bought at some all-natural store downtown. They’re fuller than his own, and Sam sucks the bottom one into his mouth before he gives a softer, shorter kiss. He pulls away, ready to ask Dean if he’s okay, and more importantly, if _they’re_ okay, but Dean doesn’t give him the chance. He brings his hand to the back of Sam’s head and crushes them back together, kiss even more intense and more brutal than before. Sam feels like he can’t fucking breathe, because the only important thing right now is _Dean_ – Dean kissing him, and Dean hard against him.

Sam rolls his hips slowly, pressing Dean further into the sofa, and Dean gasps into his mouth as their cocks move against each other through the fabric of their pants. Dean pulls away and Sam’s mouth moves to his jaw and his throat, not worrying one bit that he is probably leaving a mark.

“Sam, I – _oh_ \- I have a bedroom. This can’t be comfortable for you.”

Sam’s not uncomfortable right now, but he probably will be if, _when_ this goes any farther. So he nods against Dean’s neck, and stands up. Sam takes his own shirt off and throws it at Dean before walking in what he guesses is the general direction of the bedroom.

Dean has him pressed into the bed two seconds after he walks in the door, and Sam arches against him as Dean’s palms and fingers slide down his torso. Dean’s hands move to Sam’s belt, but Sam stops him.

“Dude, I’ve got to see you too.” _I’ve got to see the_ real _you_ , is what he leaves unspoken. Dean weirdly looks hot as hell in this get-up, even though business chic has never been a huge turn on for Sam. He can’t help but think it’s just what’s buried underneath; the Dean he will get to know once they get away from this city and this job.

Dean sits up, his legs on either side of Sam’s hips, and his fingers move toward his left cuff.

“Let me do it,” Sam says, partly because he wants to peel the clothes away from Dean himself, and partly because he’s never even touched cuff links before. He presses both links out of their cuffs, and reaches up to set them carefully on the nightstand.

Normally, Sam is more forceful than this; he likes it a little rough, likes it hard and fast most of the time. But as far as Sam is concerned, he has a while with Dean. Dean is going to want to plan before they start "hunting" ( _Oh yeah, that’s way better than “ghost chasing”_ ) after evil things, and then there’s going to be nothing but them and the road. So he has time to explore Dean, find those spots that can make him writhe and moan, where to lick and suck to send him right over the edge. If it’s slow now, then Mr. In-Control will just lose it eventually, and Sam knows that’s going to be fucking hot.

He slowly undresses Dean, starting with his tie and moving to his shirt, his blood pumping hot and fast and straight to his dick, making him want to hurry the fuck up. He unbuttons Dean’s expensive wool pants while Dean unbuttons Sam’s cheap khakis, and both pairs are thrown onto the floor with Sam’s boxers and Dean’s briefs.

The moment Dean’s hand curls around Sam’s cock, all thoughts of holding back jump out the fucking window. Sam flips them over so that Dean is on his back, and he looks at Dean’s eyes – pupils blown and green irises almost invisible.

“I dreamt about this too, you know,” he whispers as he reaches down to jerk Dean’s cock roughly in his palm. Dean moans in response, which makes Sam even harder.

“What did you dream?” Dean asks, voice a little higher and more exasperated than usual.

“Lots of things,” Sam replies and swipes his thumb along the slit of Dean’s dick before tightening his grip and moving faster. “Last time, you were lying on the bed just like this, and I was kneeling above you while I fucked your mouth.”

Dean _whimpers_ and thrusts into Sam’s fist before he comes, spilling onto Sam’s hand and his own stomach. Sam slows his movements, but keeps a tight grip on Dean’s cock as Dean rides through it. They kiss, a little messily, and Sam is _shaking_ with want. Dean’s mouth slides to Sam’s ear.

“Do it. Let me suck you.” And Sam _needs_ to come, has wanted Dean since the moment he first saw him. Hell, before then. He’s been dreaming about Dean for a long, long time.

“Yeah,” Sam whispers, and crawling up Dean’s body so that he’s straddling Dean’s chest. He curls one hand around his cock and the other around the back of Dean’s neck. Dean opens his mouth, so willing and desperate, that Sam has to close his eyes to stop from coming right there and then.

“Sammy,” Dean says, almost whining, moving his hands to Sam’s thighs, and Sam slides his cock into Dean’s mouth. Dean’s cheeks hollow, tongue swirling under the head just right, and he doesn’t choke at all when Sam thrusts a little farther. Dean has done this before.

“I think you’re the one getting action at the health club, Dean,” he pants, before Dean slides his teeth softly across his dick and Sam hisses, then Dean’s tongue smooths over the spot, and Sam can’t help but to start thrusting into his mouth.

“Fuck, Dean, this feels—“ _so much better than it did in the dream_. “God, you’re so hot like this.”

He feels Dean reach around to his ass, and slowly press against his hole. That’s all it fucking takes. Sam comes down Dean’s throat before Dean gets past the first knuckle, his head thrown back as tremors shoot up his spine. His dick pops out of Dean’s mouth, and Dean just blows his mind, licking him clean from shaft to head.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he whispers, and he sees Dean smile when he’s finished.

He lies down so that he and Dean are side by side on their backs, pressed tightly together. Sam closes his hand around Dean’s.

“Are you still going to work tomorrow?” Sam asks, trying to figure out when they’re starting this – when they’re dropping everything in their current lives and starting completely anew.

“Yeah. I gave my two weeks, so I owe them for that time, you know? Plus I need to talk to HR about some things. Are you, uh, just going to hang out here, then?”

Sam smiles. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

///

Sam wakes up the next morning, the blue numbers of the clock reading half past ten, so he knows Dean left for work a while ago.

He pads into the kitchen for some much needed cup of joe, and he sees a note in front of the coffee pot.

 _If we are going to be living on the road, we’re going to need a bigger car, don’t you think? Would you mind checking the Classifieds today? And promise me you’ll let me see the car before you buy it!_

There’s a newspaper next to the note, and Sam opens it up after he pours himself a cup of coffee. There’s a large vehicle section, but Sam has always thought that old cars were a hell of a lot cooler than new ones; more durable too which is what they’ll need in the future. He turns to the antique page, and he highlights two possibilities out of the dozens listed. A 1968 Dodge Charger and a 1967 Chevy Impala. Sam is leaning toward the latter, but he’s pretty sure Dean won’t approve of either.


End file.
